Fearful Con Cerns
by Ultracape
Summary: Summary: The amber music box passed through many hands but whatever the mystery it held, has not yet been discovered. Fowler manipulates Peter and Neal into a black op to find its secret.
1. Chapter 1

Fearful "Con" cerns

By Ultracape

Disclaimer I don't own White Collar and do not get any money from this story but I do like to take Neal, Peter and the White Collar gang out to play with for a little while and I promise to put them all back just the way I found them.

Warnings: Russian Roulette, Neal forced to participate, intense. No Slash but definitely very close and deep friendship

Parings: Peter Burke/Neal Caffery

Spoilers: Everything

Summary: The amber music box passed through many hands but whatever the mystery it held, has not yet been discovered. Fowler manipulates Peter and Neal into a black op to find its secret.

Chapter I

Sweat soaked his clothing as beads of perspiration ran down his forehead joining the tears in his eyes as he struggled to control the tremors wracking his body.

It was dark, yet even though his sight was blurry obscuring features, he could see men crowded around him, smirking, lustful, self-assured, eager to watch his reactions, betting on the outcome.

He closed his eyes for just a moment before painfully swallowing, more of a reflex than a need since there was no moisture in his mouth. Still he attempted bravado when all he wanted to do was scream and scream. The muzzle of a pistol was brought into his line of sight, the tip touching his forehead and then slowly moved around to his temple. Neal trembled further as the men in the room went silent knowing it was about to happen, it could be the end, or it could go on and on again. He tried to count down in his head to when his tormentor would pull the trigger so as not to give him the satisfaction of startling, 10, 9, 8, 7…

CLICK! He jerked violently, panting for breath in reaction and quickly attempted to pull his game face, which fooled no one as the man with the scar on his chin touched Neal's with the hot muzzle of the pistol, burning his face as he moved it down from his forehead, his cheek and throat, like a macabre lover's hand.

Then, aiming at a target across the room, the man fired and the bullet hit its mark.

"Ah, just missed by one this time," he laughed and the audience groaned. "You must be lucky. Let's try again, shall we."

The man lifted the box of ammunition which was on a small table next to the chair to which Neal was confined.

"One bullet, Neal," the man whispered, close to his ear, "one bullet at a time, that's all I need." He saw the bullet removed from the box and brought close to his face, turned this way and that, as if it were some object of desire. Neal futilely struggled to get his numb blood covered fingers to work against the wire restraints holding him at ankles, wrists, elbows, shoulders and neck in the high backed chair.

"Tell me where the music box is and you can have that bullet and it will all be over. You want that bullet now, don't you? You want all of this to end. See, I knew we could see eye to eye given enough time."

"N no. D deal b breaker," Neal stammered and shook his head against the dizziness that he could not shake while, futilely trying to work some moisture into his mouth to speak. "I, I won't tell you anything until, until you tell me why, why you want it."

Neal's field of vision slowly narrowed to a point, just one point, where the gun, just inches away was aimed at him.

The man put the bullet into one of the holders in the barrel and ran the muzzle down Neal's throat, over his chest and then back up to his throat and forehead, outlining every line every curve of his face.

"You love the gun now, don't you Neal. You love the gun and you want the bullet and all you have to do is tell me the location of the music box and all of this will be over."

"G, go t, to h, hell," Neal stuttered through his trembling.

"Ah, I didn't realize you love our little game so much. You like to tease the bullet. The bullet loves to be teased and of course, like any lover, you tease enough, long enough and it will come, Neal, it will come for you."

The gun was in his field of vision; the hand spun the barrel again and pointed the gun straight at Neal's forehead.

"Now we'll see, if your luck is still holding, Neal."

The trigger was pulled back slowly and Neal felt his eyes fill with tears as he pressed his lips shut, crying silently, shaking his head no, no as the trigger was slowly squeezed and then jerked. FLASH!

"NO," he screamed, pushing himself up over the low railing and falling out of bed with his need to run, his legs collapsing under him, falling hard on the floor.

Disoriented in the darkness, he curled up into a ball as tightly as he could, shaking, sweating, "No, no, no," he keened over and over, "No, no, no, no, no, no.," rocking back and forth as the vision slowly faded.

"Neal," Neal jerked away from the man's gentle touch on his shoulder, hiding his face against his knees. "Neal, it's alright," he felt a hand smooth his hair back, "Neal. You're safe. I've got you, I've got you, buddy."

It was Peter. He looked up, his eyes slowly adjusting to the minimal light in the room. Oh, G –d it was Peter. It was Peter who was bending over him and helping him back into the bed.

"Peter," he whispered, "Peter," he touched the man's face, relaxing into his friend's arms for a moment as his sought to control his jangling nerves.

"You'll be okay Neal, it's over now."

"Just a nightmare, it was just a nightmare," he said with more assurance, yet as it faded it was replaced with confusion.

"Hey, don't get me wrong, buddy," Neal nervously chuckled pulling away from Peter's arm, still around him, attempting to steady his shaking voice to something approaching normal, "but what are you doing in my apartment at this time of night? Why aren't you at home with Elizabeth?"

Peter helped Neal, who was weakly struggling to lift his legs, get them back onto the bed and then pulled the sheets and blanket back up around him. "Neal," he said gently but with nervous concern in his voice, "El went to get some coffee. She and I have been taking turns sitting with you. She'll be back soon. Don't you remember?" Peter said as he moved to sit on a chair next to the bed.

Neal turned his body so that he was facing Peter, his arms bent in front of him for support. "All I really remember is some weird nightmare. I don't think I've ever been so scared. It was so vivid; I thought it was really happening."

Peter reached over and twisted on the wall lamp, the light suddenly revealing the hospital room and Neal's arms from shoulder to fingers heavily bandaged.

Shock and terror filled Neal's eyes as he recalled the fear and pain of that week, "Neal, don't you remember? It did happen."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter II

It was a week later that, F.B.I. Special Agent Peter Burke along with OPR Agent Garrett Fowler and Dr. Samuel Rothstein, stood in the head psychiatrist's wood paneled office in a special government run clinic in upstate New York and watched the live video feed of Neal's psychological exam.

"What does this look like," asked the seated psychologist holding up a Rorschach ink blot card from the pile on the hospital table in front of him.

Neal, in is own pajamas and robe could hardly keep still in the easy chair next to his bed in the gemutlich style hospital room he'd occupied since he'd been rescued. He fidgeted on the edge of the chair as if he were about to take off, yet never really stood up. "A, a bat, I think. Maybe a bird, maybe?" he asked instead of answered. "I'm not sure what it's supposed to be," Neal nearly whimpered.

"That's alright, Mr. Caffery." The psychologist said gently. He put the card down, wrote some notes and then picked up another one. "And this?"

Neal dry washed his face looking at the new card. "I don't know," he stuttered. "I'm not sure," his voice hitched higher, stress building as perspiration beaded on his forehead. "Please I, I can't do this."

"It's okay, just take it easy. We only have a few more," said the psychologist picking up another card. "Can you tell me what you think this looks like?"

"I, I," he pulled his robe tighter around him, trembling in the warm room. "I don't know. I, I don't want to do this anymore. Please."

Dr. Rothstein muted the sound on the speaker on his desk as Neal continued to stutter through the rest of the questions.

Peter rubbed his hands over his face as he followed his friend's movements; the way the normally graceful man jerked and hesitated before shifting in his chair, the way he gripped his robe and tried to still his increasing trembling. "It took a week for me to find him," he said his voice filled with self recrimination. Then his voice shifted to a deeper anger, "but someone must have tipped the bastards off because they were gone by the time we got to the warehouse where he was being held."

"That's impossible. Only you, I and Caffery knew anything about this operation, Burke." Peter glanced sharply at Fowler, but the OPR agent ignored the implication. "We still don't know who nabbed him or what they think is in that music box."

"What is supposed to be in it?" asked Peter.

"As I already told Caffery and I'm telling you, its way above my pay grade. But whatever was supposed to be in it, it's not there now. It's empty and every test we've run comes up the same. Its amber definitely made with materials dating back to the 1700s. But that could be faked so I still don't know for sure if Caffery handed me a forgery but there's no way to authenticate the damn thing. All I know for sure is that it is a music box and that it's made of amber and it looks exactly like photographs and descriptions of the original. But anyone who actually saw it before the Nazis stole it is dead or not talking."

"Neal thought the only way to free Kate would be to hand over the music box to you. He would never have done anything to jeopardize her," said Peter. "If it's not the real music box then it had to be switched some time when it was out of his hands."

Fowler's voice rose with his impatience, "That may be but we have to know what is supposed to be in that music box and the only way to find that out is to get a hold of the people who are hunting it. Everyone thought Neal had it even before he stole it from the Italian Consulate."

"Allegedly stole it. You have no proof that it was even ever there."

"Sure, have it your way, 'allegedly.' We can set another a trap if we play it right but I need Caffery. Word is they're more convinced than ever that he knows more than he's said. We have to offer him up as bait again, looking for a seller. It's the only way we'll catch them. When will he be able to go back in the field?" he asked Dr. Rothstein.

Peter was on his last nerve; the only thing stopping him from finishing the job he started two months ago was the knowledge that losing his temper might get him another suspension but it could cost Neal his life.

"When? No Agent Fowler, I don't think you are seeing the whole picture here," said Dr. Rothstein. "It's not, when, its if."

"Dr. Whalen said he was nearly physically healed."

"Dr. Whalen is not a psychiatrist," Dr. Rothstein brought up Neal's file on his computer screen.

"We have the disk they used to record their interrogation. They beat him, tormented and tortured him for a week. He was given only enough food and water to keep him coherent and they pumped him full of anxiety inducing drugs to prevent sleep and increase his fears plus subjected him to non-stop interrogations. So, yes, in another week he should be physically stable enough to be released. Then possibly with a month or two on a sunny beach someplace with plenty of rest, mild exercise, good care and nutrition he will be barely physically up to minimum F.B.I. agent standards, but I don't think you need a psychiatric degree to see that the man is broken."

"Neal Caffery, broken?" Fowler chuckled. "Come on, he's a con man, this is just a game to slack off."

"Fowler!" Peter pulled the OPR agent around, staring him straight in the eye, "Shut your damn mouth or get out."

Fowler pulled Peter's hands off of him and smirked. "Still protecting your pet-con, Peter? May I remind you that I can still press charges against you for shooting me?"

Peter pointed to the screen. "He's not slacking, or coning. He's in pain and I can't believe you don't see that."

"And you know this because of your degree in psychiatry?"

"I have a degree in psychiatry, several in fact. He's not slacking. He's traumatized and hurt and in crisis." cut in Dr. Rothstein.

Fowler glared at the doctor and then back at Peter. "Fine, but I still haven't gotten an answer to my question."

"Damn it Fowler."

"Burke, you may be his handler but the only reason you're privy to details about his medical condition and treatment is because Caffery listed you as next of kin." He took a deep breath and stepped away. "Okay, fine. I can sympathize with you. No one is denying Caffery was put through hell. He needs a month, a month it is. I'll have leave authorized for both of you to start immediately after his release from here so that you can babysit him. He won't even have to wear the tracker since I expect you to be glued to him the entire time. But then, both of you are mine. I can't hold this operation off any longer than that."

"I won't let him do it. It's asking too much. He signed on to be a consultant, not a god damn spy."

"And of course, you never used him for undercover operations," Fowler smirked. "But if he doesn't want to do it, fine, we'll toss him back into a nice safe prison for the duration of his sentence. Or, he can have his freedom, working for me and that means he'll be in the field marketing the music box and finding out its secret."

Peter's glare followed Fowler out the door. Turning back to the screen he saw his friend, the once charismatic confident con artist, now abandoned in his hospital room, leaning back against the wall before slowly slipping down to sit on the floor, his face a mixture of anger and fear, hitting the floor with his fist muttering to himself. Then a nurse walked in followed by Elizabeth. She knelt down and touched Neal on his arm and with a gentle smile, was able to get Neal back into the bed. The nurse injected Neal with a sedative. Soon more relaxed, Neal drifted to sleep as Elizabeth sat in the bedside chair stroking Neal's hair and holding his hand.

"Coffee?" Peter startled and turned when the doctor asked.

"Sure, anything but de-café," he said taking the seat the doctor pointed to. "I don't know what to do."

"Do?"

"If Neal isn't 'fixed,' in one month, it would probably be a mercy to him to put him back in prison, rather than what else could happen."

Dr. Rothstein poured them both cups and eased into his desk chair. "In his present condition, he wouldn't survive a day in a nursery school. You know, men aren't machines. They break, you can't just tighten a few bolts, replace a few cylinders."

Rubbing his eyes, as if he was sleepy, Peter hoped to surreptitiously wipe them of the tears that formed. "Is he broken? Will he recover?"

Dr. Rothstein sighed. "I never met Mr. Caffery before this but from comparing his present mental state to the profile in his file he's not the man he was. He's fearful, indecisive, hesitant, unsure of himself and afraid to break the rules."

"No, that's definitely not, Neal Caffery," Peter chuckled mirthlessly thinking of Neal's working philosophy that rules were only there to test his cleverness in breaking them.

"Those bastards found the chink in his amour and they pounded on it with precision and unrelenting pressure for a whole week but he didn't talk," said Dr. Rothstein. "The training they give you agents to resist interrogation has saved many a life but he had none. I can not comprehend the courage that man displayed to have held out so long. But he's paid a terrible price. If he were my friend, I'd get him out of whatever's holding him to Fowler and help him find something a little less nerve wracking to do for a living, like disarming bombs."

Peter chuckled, "Unfortunately, not an option and I've only got a month to do what I can to help him."

"Six months, a year, maybe we could understand enough to help him. But a month? Right now he's in an insulated environment, no real decisions to make more important than should he have milk or cream in his coffee and even that causes him anxiety. You take him out of here and he'll be fighting himself for every breath. He knows he's missing a part of himself, or rather that it's been badly hurt, crippled. He won't want to give himself the opportunity to let it heal so he'll want to try and prove to you, to himself that he's still got it, he can still be the man he was. Given time and enough support and treatment, then maybe he will be. But in a month? I don't think that's possible."

Peter didn't have faith that he could help Neal enough but he knew he had to do as much as possible. "So, a beach somewhere?"

"Possibly, but somewhere where he'll feel secure, safe, where he has emotional support when he needs it, and he will need it, Agent Burke. Because there will come a time when he won't be able to hide from his fears, from what's bothering him, when he'll have to act. He'll need to reach for that place, for that broken part and if it's not there, he may lose himself, permanently."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

On and off, on and off, the sound was muted but all Neal was listening for was the click of the TV going on and off as he repeatedly hit the power switch.

So intent was he on the clicking sound that he did not notice the door when it opened. "Hey, Neal, is the coast clear?" Peter stuck his head in through the open door and acting as if he were sneaking up on a den of thieves, or Neal's apartment, take your pick.

"Peter," Neal smiled from the bed, "What the hell are you doing?" He laughed softly.

"Don't worry, I've got back up, he grinned."

Neal could see Elizabeth's hand holding what amounted to a bouquet of Neal's favorite paint brushes over Peter's head, wiggling them back and forth. "As long as you don't get hit with friendly fire."

The couple came into the room carrying several large black bags.

"What is all this?" Neal asked, curling his legs up onto the bed.

"It's just what the doctor ordered," Peter said as he dug into one of the bags. Pulling out an artist's smock he handed it to Neal and then pulled out Neal's easel and set it up. Out of the other bag Elizabeth pulled out his palate, and tubes of paint and a portable table and set them out with his brushes. "We heard that between flirting with the nurses, you've been complaining about being bored and not having anything to do."

"I, I haven't been flirting," Neal said in a sad and trembling voice. It was another thing that he realized was not right about himself.

Peter noticed his expression, "Neal, you know I didn't mean anything by it."

Neal tried to shake off the feeling that his world was topsie turvy. He was surprised and amazingly touched about the painting equipage and got out of the bed looking over the material when the door opened again and Neal froze until he saw it was the nurse.

"What's all this?" she said gesturing towards the easel.

"Oh, ah, sorry, my friends just wanted to cheer me up. They didn't know the rules. But they'll take this stuff away." Neal said astounding couple.

Folding up his easel he packed up the brushes and paints. "It's against the rules guys and I'm not ready to break the lease."

Elizabeth stopped him, "No, Neal, it's okay, really. We've come to spring you out of here."

"What, are you sure?" Neal wasn't sure he wanted to leave. He felt this overwhelming and unaccustomed desire to hide under the covers.

"That's right Mr. Caffery, that's what I've come to tell you. Your discharge papers are signed and I've given Agent Burke all your after care instructions. You can go anytime. We need the bed."

As the nurse left, Neal sat down heavily on the bed. "Why, why did I do that?" He shook his head.

"Do what," said Peter.

"I, I'm just so jittery, so nervous all the time. I, I mean, of course, it's just paints."

Elizabeth looked to Peter who opened the third bag he brought in which had a change of clothing for Neal.

"Look, El and I came up with a great idea. You and I have a month off, standard for this kind of thing. The bureau has a confiscated beach bungalow out in the Hamptons. It's in Sagaponack, playground of the rich and famous. It used to belong to this brokerage exec who…"

"Honey," Elizabeth cut him off.

"Well, yeah, that's really not important. We have it for as long as we want. Sun, surf and sand, we can all kick back and do whatever."

"Peter, I don't know. I..."

"Hey, wine tastings, art exhibit openings, champagne receptions; you've got a better idea?"

"Peter, are you telling me that you want to go to wine tastings, art exhibit openings and champagne receptions because if you aren't telling me that then you better call the psychiatrist back because I really need to stay in this funny farm until I stop hallucinating."

"Peter is saying that you and I can go while he can watch 30 sports channels on the humongous screen TV in the bungalow's media center," Elizabeth chuckled. "Come on Neal, you've been cooped up in this place for way to long."

Neal felt cold, so cold he was shivering. Then there was a warm soft arm around his waist and a kiss on his cheek. "Neal, we could do something else or go someplace else if you like," Elizabeth said.

He looked from one of his friends to the other. "You two are determined to show me a good time, huh?"

Peter smiled at him in that 'I've got your back,' kind of way. "Come on Neal. You haven't been on a beach for at least five years that I know of and probably longer."

"Yeah, sure. It'll be a blast," Neal did his best to smile back and laugh a little, he really did. .


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter III

Safely slathered in sunscreen to protect his pale chest, Neal could feel the sun bake into him, as the sound of the surf soothed his nerves. The incessant trembling of his limbs, a leftover from the drugs that had been forced into him he had been told repeatedly, quieted down to barely there tremors, if not yet totally gone.

He relaxed on the lounge chair, sunglasses protecting his eyes as he watched the scantily clad bodies walk past, or play, or swim beyond the gentle surf.

"Enjoying yourself?" Elizabeth moaned in pleasure.

Neal turned at her voice and starred, smiling and unabashedly appreciating the view of Elizabeth, who was looking straight up at him, clothed in a micro bikini as Peter, showing a fair amount of well defined torso himself, had a frown of intense concentration on his face as he laved his wife's back with sunscreen with more focus and attention to detail than Neal had ever seen him use on any case.

"Yes, but probably not as much as you are" he said, his eye catching two bronzed blonds walking by who were almost wearing bathing suits. Sagaponack, one of the richest communities in the United States seemed to have a contest that day of how little someone could wear and still be descent. Even up on the road above the beach, people who could not gain entrance to the private beach were joined by passersby in low slung convertibles and sports cars which were stopping and using binoculars to spy out the rich and pretty people, who had probably paid humongous amounts of money for clothes that were just this side of the public decency laws.

Neal was enjoying the show and so, it seemed did the blond things as they eyed Neal with approval and appreciative giggling as they passed by. He couldn't have had this entertainment at the private beach bungalow where he and the Burkes were staying and which he initially had not wanted to leave. Now he was glad the Burkes had talked him into joining them on the member's only stretch of sand, a gift guess passes provided by June. Neal's eyes, shaded with sunglasses, followed the bikinied bottoms to the cluster of blue and green painted concessionaires up the beach.

Smiling, thinking of stretching his admittedly rusty flirting muscles, Neal quickly planned his escape of the married couple and reached into the cooler next to him, picking through the bottles and cans for something he was hoping wasn't there. "Damn."

"Something the matter," Elizabeth asked.

"Nope," Neal said sitting up and stretching, "We're out of bottled water. But I saw a stand over there selling some freshly squeezed orange juice. Want any?"

Before he had a chance to stand, Peter had jumped up. "Neal, you rest, stay here with El, I'll get it."

Neal rolled his eyes. "Peter, why don't you stay and finish what you were enjoying doing.

"Both El and I want some too and you won't be able to carry three drinks by yourself."

A sudden and unaccustomed rage filled Neal. "Why, because I'll spill them, because my hands won't stop shaking, because no one will let me forget for one second that I'm, I'm…" he didn't finish the sentence

As much as he generally loved to occasionally be pampered, his friends would not let him do a damn thing himself. Taking hold of his temper, he grabbed his tee-shirt and pulling it on over his head stood up so quickly he nearly keeled over with a sudden bought of dizziness. Fighting through it, the normally gracefully moving man tripped and partially ripped one of the straps on his beach sandals before stalking off towards the concessionaire. He didn't have to see Peter and Elizabeth to know they were exchanging worried looks. He didn't have to turn to see Peter awkwardly searching for his own sandals and shoving his feet into them to run and catch up with him.

He hadn't gotten ten steps when he said to the man he knew was right next to him, "You don't have to do everything for me. I'm not going to fall apart. I can walk across the damn beach to the damn stand and get some damned orange juice without anyone's help."

"Not without your damned wallet," Peter held out the leather item to an astonished Neal.

Neal slapped his swim trunks back pocket, not feeling the lump that should have been there. "You picked my pocket!" Neal said appalled and astonished, grabbing the wallet from Peter's hand.

"Oh, look at you, surprised that someone would do that to you, of all people," Peter grinned at him.

"When did you do that? I didn't even feel anything."

"You mean when did I allegedly do that. I keep telling you, you underestimate me."

"Maybe I should allegedly arrest you."

"You don't have the authority. I'd have to allegedly arrest myself."

Anger leaving him at the banter, Neal slowed to a walk and the two men got on line under the red and white awnings with other swimsuit clad men and women waiting their turn at the food stand.

"I'm sorry I blew up at you, and before you say it, I'll apologize to Elizabeth as well."

warned by Dr. Rothstein of Neal's swiftly shifting moods and not wanting to set the man off again, Peter opted to deflect. "This is the life, huh?" He smiled and stretched his arms up over his head, taking a deep breath, "fresh air, sunshine, I could get used to this."

Neal chuckled, "Peter, you've never been able to deal with more than one week of leave every ten years. Me, however, I'll take all the liberty I can get."

"You in the service too," a tall muscular red haired man with a military hair cut standing in front of Neal turned suddenly sticking out his hand to the men.

"A no," Neal, said taken aback and looked sharply at Peter who accepted the handshake.

"Nay, but we have the same boss. We're with the F.B.I. But I've been to the sandbox on a case or two back in the first Gulf War."

"Oh, F.B.I. hey, one of you're guys saved a friend of mine's butt a few months back when some state department hack tried to frame him. We're Marines," the man said with pride, "I'm home with the family after three tours. Now that the wife and I've just got a kid, I've been thinking of mustering out and putting in for federal law enforcement."

"Still can be hell on the marriage unless she's understanding."

Neal zoned out on the conversation as the two men exchanged some marriage/war stories and let the drone of the voices wash over him.

"Hand's up mister."

Neal froze as the muzzle of a gun lifted to his face. His breath caught in his throat as he starred at the gun, watching as the finger on the trigger slowly squeezed. "No, no, no."

He still saw the sun, the sand and the beach yet the darkness crowded in from the edges of his vision as the pain, the anxiety ate at his sense of reality.

"Neal, what's wrong?"

The muzzle came closer, and closer, aiming right between his eyes. "NO," Neal screamed, turning too quickly, breaking his sandal straps causing the soul of the shoe to bend under his foot and tripping him so that he fell hard to the ground.

"Bobby, Bobby, what did you do? I've told you not to sneak up on people with that thing," a woman's voice called out.

Neal was lying on the sand, trembling, confused, disoriented, and looked up at the little boy with the soldier's hat, who was staring at him, frightened by Neal's apparent over reaction. Over the boy's head, the people on the food line were all starring at him, muttering to each other, curious as to what he was going to do, just like, all those men and the man with the scar who held the gun on him in the room in the warehouse.

Peter knelt down putting his hand on Neal's shoulder. "Neal, calm down, it was just a toy," he said quietly.

"Sorry mister," the boy said.

"I'm sorry he bothered you," said Bobby's mother, grabbing him by the hand and leading him away.

"I'm not a gun guy," Neal stammered in a soft voice.

"Coward," Neal heard the Marine mutter. "He's nothing but a lily livered coward."

Peter shot the Marine a sharp look, "Neal, he's just an idiot. Come on, give me you're hand, and I'll help you up."

Mortified, Neal couldn't seem to get to his feet. He was a con man and was always able to stand out when necessary and blend in when needed. His presence, the amount of attention he would draw to himself was always under his control. It always had been but now, now they, strangers were staring at him, muttering, waiting for him to react, to do something and all he could do was tremble at the sight of a toy gun.

His face red with embarrassment, Neal pulled away, fighting to get himself, his body under some kind of control. Finally; he got up by himself, nearly, "Please excuse me. I'm going back to the bungalow," he said and walked away.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

It was later that afternoon that Peter and Elizabeth found Neal, still in his swimsuit and tee shirt sitting on the patio of the bungalow, staring into the horizon, a brochure they'd picked up of the local sights abandoned on his lap. "Neal," said Peter, "we were getting worried when we couldn't get you on your cell."

Neal's shoulders stiffened at the comment as Peter came around to talk to him.

The agent had never seen so much pain and despondency in the man's face and demeanor. Even Kate's death had left him with more fire.

A soft cool breeze came up from the Atlantic Ocean turning the temperature suddenly cooler and Peter heard a clinking at his feet.

Looking down he saw the bits and pieces of Neal's cell phone.

"I see you didn't want to take any of our calls," Peter said but he got no answer.

He tried again, "Neal, it's getting a little cold out here, you're going to get sick if you don't come in and change into something warmer."

Peter was getting worried about this non-responsive state.

"El met some people who've invited all of us to a wine tasting over in the next village up the shore. We can dress up, hang out with some pretty people, and drink some overpriced wine. Then we can go out to dinner at a Japanese place they say is the best in the Northeast. You'll like that," Peter chattered to Neal.

Neal visibly shook himself out of the apparent stupor.

"You hate all of that stuff Peter," Neal said, annoyance in his voice. "I'm not dying. You're not the 'Make a Wish' Foundation. Please, don't do this. Stop babying me. Just tell me to cowboy up or something. I can't take this coddling," he said, his voice rising in anger.

"Neal…" Peter was at a loss.

"I've been rude to you and Elizabeth. I've been moody. I know it. Yell at me, tell me to straighten myself up," his voice got louder, "get angry at me for my rotten behavior."

"Neal, we don't need to when you're doing such a good job of it yourself"

All the steam seemed to have left him, leaving Neal even more morose.

"Look, I'm no good company. I'm not even very hungry. You two go if you want to. I'll be alright."

Peter knew, alright was the last thing Neal was going to be if he kept on like this.

Elizabeth came over to Neal carrying a cup with some capsules and a tall glass of water. "Neal, doctor's orders," she handed him the medication which he took without argument, this time. "You're still a bit underweight and your system hasn't yet flushed out all of those drugs. You're not going to feel yourself until that happens and unless you gain some weight back, you won't have the strength you need to fully recover."

"I'll grab a sandwich later. I promise. Please. I just. I can't, I don't, don't make me go out."

After making Neal a generously large sandwich and salad, leaving it in the refrigerator, Peter and Elizabeth left the house, reluctantly but wanted to give Neal the space he asked for.

As they approached the Taurus, Peter caught sight of a swift beam of light coming from the high road bank that overlooked the beach.

"Did you see that?" Peter asked Elizabeth as they both could hear an engine start up and a small convertible, parked up the road, speed away.

"What?"

"I don't know. That car that was parked up there, I thought I saw it before on the road overlooking the beach club where all those people were using binoculars. If they were using binoculars now, they would have had a direct site line to where Neal is sitting."

"Or maybe it was just some kids making out, or admiring the view."

"Maybe," Peter smiled

"Maybe we shouldn't go."

"El, Neal is already uncomfortable enough being the center of our attention all the time."

"I'm so worried about him, and if there were people in that car spying on him..." Elizabeth said, looking more worried.

"El, we have to drive past that spot anyway and we'll look around. Besides, they left. There's really no reason to suspect anything out of the ordinary."

"Look, let's just skip the wine tasting and get something to eat. I don't want to leave Neal alone that long."

"Okay, I'm worried about him to but I don't know what to do. I see him falling apart but he resents our help and I'm afraid if we push him too hard, he'll run."

"You wouldn't send him back to prison, Peter, he's been through so much."

"I wouldn't. Even if he were to run, I wouldn't blame him with the choices he's been given by Fowler. Unfortunately, it may not be up to me. I'm just worried El. Neal could not con his way out of a paper bag right now. If he can't recover quickly enough for the operation Fowler has planned…, Neal may not survive."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter IV

Perhaps it was the change of weather, from bright and sunny to summer deluge, with violent waves seen from the patio doors, eating away at the sandy shore, that brought the idea. After a week of barely seeing Neal emerge from his room for anything more than the occasional mouthful of food, inspiration finally struck Peter as he perused the damp morning newspaper. As advertised, just a few minutes away from where they were staying was the world famous Wines By Morrell liquor store in East Hampton. "Ah, just the thing," he murmured while sipping his coffee.

"What was that honey?" Elizabeth asked.

Peter bent the paper down to show his wife. "Just the thing that might pull Neal out of his week's long self imposed solitary confinement. We obviously can't go to the beach this morning and it will be too lot this afternoon and we've seen how well that worked anyway. But Morrell's would interest Neal, I'm sure. It's right next to a gourmet cafe with a selection of that stuff, you know, croissants and pate and mousse and all that fancy goo that is Caffery comfort food."

"We're supposed to be putting some weight on him and I swear he looks like he's dropped a few more pounds. How do we get him there?"

"Well, we have to replace the bottles of wine that we drank from the cellar here and who would be better to choose those than Neal? Of course, I could always get some beer while I'm there," he grinned.

"Brilliantly manipulative," said Neal, frowning as he came into the room, still in his pajamas.

"Is it going to work?" asked Peter, unrepentant.

"Yeah, I guess. I'll get dressed," Neal said.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

A few hours later, the morose expression that had seemed to settle on Neal's features since the incident on the beach had not lifted as he wandered the aisles looking over rows of shelves filled with the wines offered at the internationally known outlet.

The selection of wines encompassed the best that every grape producing country had to offer and Neal was having trouble deciding what to buy. Should he just replace the wine with the same types, years and labels or should he get a different selection at the same cost, or did it even matter? He didn't know what was right, what he should do, if it would get them angry even if he wasn't sure which "them" that would be and he felt his anxiety growing.

"Hey, Neal," Peter walked up from the front of the store, immediately noticing Neal's distress but not wanting to upset him further by paying too much attention. "I've got my beer and found another from a micro brewery Jones had suggested. Will you be ready to go soon?"

"I don't know what to get," Neal murmured, his remaining tremors making it difficult for him to crouch down to look at what was on the lower shelves.

"Just get something you'd like. I'm sure it will be fine then meet me in the front of the store." Peter walked away as Neal grunted in acknowledgement, not really hearing what Peter said. Soon his explorations brought further back into the entrails of the store.

Becoming agitated with himself at not being able to make a decision, Neal turned to ask Peter about the choice only to find that he wasn't there. Suddenly he realized how quiet the store seemed. "Peter?" he turned around, not seeing anyone. The way Peter and Elizabeth had been hovering over him, the last thing either would do is leave him alone in the store without telling him.

"Peter?" he said a little more loudly, a twinge of fear skittering through him at the silence. Looking around he caught site of a security monitor through a an open rear employees' only marked door and Neal's blood ran cold. Peter as well as a several other customers and the store clerk were being held at gunpoint by two males wearing ski masks, in summer. "Idiot amateurs," was Neal's first thought as he automatically analyzed the situation.

One thief had all the customers sitting on the floor while the other was trying to open the store safe under the cash register. Once they figured out that the sign in the front of the store, saying the safe could only be opened by the manager, was not lying, things could get ugly very quickly.

Neal reached for his cell phone before remembering that he broke it when he slammed it against the floor of the patio a few days ago. He cursed himself for not getting another one because he didn't want to leave the bungalow, or rather, he felt like he had a giant red "C" for coward on his forehead and he didn't want to be seen in his present state by anyone. He'd been hiding and he knew it and this was the result. "One bad decision after another, why does Peter even trust me?" he thought to himself yet, as far as Neal knew, Peter was probably, foolishly, counting on that trust at this very moment. "If I don't act, they'll hurt Peter, maybe even kill him," and that thought frightened Neal even more than the terror that had been eating away at him since he'd been rescued.

Neal knew that while Peter had brought his weapon with him on vacation, the well trained F.B.I. agent, wasn't packing here. But that would not have stopped him from having had the whole situation well in hand already, if he hadn't been holding a couple of cases of beer at the time, and been more worried about Neal's problems than what was going on around him.

Looking at the security monitor, Neal realized that if he could distract the punk thieves long enough, Peter could take one of them down while he handled the other. Easy, he'd done the same type of thing a dozen times at least with Peter and other members of Peter's team on undercover assignments and stings.

He grabbed a couple of bottles of cheep wine, and walked towards the front of the store as if he were just going to pay for his purchases. He planned a persona to adopt, someone confused, nervous, prattler, prissy, distracting, self centered enough to always get his way but apparently harmless. He'd talk a line of prattle so quickly that the thieves would not know what was going on and when they were sufficiently confused, Peter could attack one from the rear, the other would be distracted and Neal would throw the bottles he was carrying at him and subdue him, easy.

"Hey, Peter," he said loudly as he came to the front of the store, to a point such that Peter would be behind the punks when they turned to face Neal. "Where'd you run off to?" He got to the spot he'd aimed for and started in with a startled customer line of palaver.

"Oh, my, oh, what are you doing? What are you doing with guns? You're robbing the store? No, no you can't do that, that's against the law, oh." Perfectly in control, Neal said to himself. Just get them to turn their guns on him and then Peter will take one and he could take the other.

As Neal kept up his chatter, behind the gunmen, Neal could see Peter nod slightly, getting himself ready, sizing up how to deal with the two targets. Peter tilted his head towards the one he would take and smiled at Neal's slight nod. The gunmen turned still waving their guns, gesturing for Neal to join the others on the floor of the store.

Neal continued his prattle showing more nervousness went for an officious and offended manner, "What, you want me to sit on that dirty floor, in these pants. No, I refuse. I just won't do it, you'll just have to adapt."

The thieves then turned, their guns steadying, the muzzle of one pointed straight at him. It was a police H&K 9 mm semi-automatic pistol. No, that was wrong, it had a barrel, and he could see the bullets, no it had a clip and he couldn't and the gun cocked and there was a 'snick' like a bullet in the chamber and it was directed right at him, right between his eyes and Neal's mouth went dry, and he felt like he was choking and dizzy and his limbs trembled and it was dark and they were laughing, leering, and the man was going to shoot him and he couldn't move and he didn't know where he was and he had to get away, he had to but he couldn't. He couldn't because if he did, Peter, they'd hurt Peter.

"I said get down on the floor or I'll shoot," said the thief. He raised the gun and took aim.

"No, no," and everything in him told him to run, and he struggled to see what was there through the encroaching darkness of the room with the men and the bullet and he wanted nothing more than to flee, "but I can't leave Peter, I can't." and he dropped the bottles and the gun went off and Neal felt panic and pain and before Neal realized what he was doing, he turned and ran.

As the gun went off, Peter's training took over "F.B.I." he shouted and he threw himself on the gunman before he could take another shot at Neal but he didn't see Neal. He grabbed the man's gun and shot the other thief before he could get a bead on Peter and he didn't see Neal, He had his cell phone out and called the police and he didn't see Neal. And asked the store clerk to get some plastic ties and secured the man he was holding and checked the man he had shot and asked for some bandages and pressed on the wound, and he didn't see Neal. And the police and paramedics arrived and took over the scene and he gave his statement and as the adrenaline left him with his hands still shaking from the rush and the excitement was over and his first thought was he wanted to go back to Elizabeth but he was asked by everyone who was his friend, the brave man who saved the day by distracting the gunmen.

And he did not see Neal.

"Neal," he called turning around, looking down the aisles, "Neal?" and "Damn it," he saw drips of blood on the floor and knew it had to be Neal's. "Neal, Neal, he said louder to the now empty store."

Peter followed the blood trail out the back of the liquor store and across the road to where it stopped. Neal must have run faster than he thought, or gotten on a bus or gotten a cab or someone picked him up. That last one worried Peter more than the other three options, especially since just down the road he saw what he was sure was the same sports car he'd seen at least twice before, pulling out and speeding away.

There were people who could be looking for Neal though there was a very short list of people who even knew that Neal was here except "Fowler!"

A minute later he was talking to Elizabeth. "Honey, Neal ran."

"He wouldn't"

"No, I mean he was spooked again." He quickly filled her in on the attempted robbery. "He faced those gunmen to save me and then they turned their guns on him shot and he spooked. If he were running away from the FBI I'd know where to look. But now I've got no idea where Neal would go or even if he's on his own. Plus I think he's been shot, though probably not seriously wounded or there would have been more blood. I want you to look for him."

"Me, where would I look?" she said.

"Places that he likes to go. You and he like a lot of the same things, where would you run to if you were scared?"

"First choice, to you. Second choice, to you and then to Neal. That about covers it."

Peter couldn't help but smile, "Try museums maybe, yeah, museums. There are a lot of them around here and he was flipping through some brochures on them a few days ago. It's something he really likes to do, more often than not just to think and unwind, when he's not casing the joint."

"Peter!"

"No, I don't think he'd try it now or here but he still probably went to one even if its just to sulk."

"Okay, but why aren't you looking for him?"

"Because he almost got himself killed trying to overcome his demons in order to help me. Because he couldn't even choose a bottle of wine without nearly having a panic attack, because he's not getting better, because we can't fool ourselves any longer thinking Neal will be ready for Fowler's op in the next few weeks. Because Neal is never going to have the chance to heal faced with the pressure and stress of Fowler's agenda. There's only one way to help him and to do that I have to see some people and they're back in the city. I'll call you when I can. Love you."

"Love you," said Elizabeth. Closing the phone, Elizabeth checked through the newspaper for a listing of the museums in the area. Disheartened by the number, she tried to narrow it down by type but then Neal had eclectic interests.

"When you hear hoof beats, don't look for zebras," she remembered hearing that medical advice to young interns long before it was a line on the TV shows so she made a list of art museums, closest to Neal's starting point, mapped it out on google and went hunting.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter V

When the knock came at the door, Alexandra Hunter, acquirer of sordid and rare objects for the "Buffet" rich, powerful and infamous, was enjoying an after dinner aperitif in the Peninsula Suite of the five diamond hotel of the same name, overlooking Fifth Avenue with her new best friend, Ignatius Bardom, a Duke.

She had originally taken up with the man, simply to be a plus one for the heist at the Italian Consulate with Neal and Mozzie. Always a smart girl, she chose her between relationship playmates carefully and since her preferred partner, Neal was still in mourning over Kate, she had been entertaining herself by continuing a light liaison with the dancing duke.

After a morning at Cristies, where Ignatious picked up a Fabrage egg at a bargain, she flattered him, then lunching with Ban Ki-moon (Secretary General of the UN) discussing an the creation of an exhibit of pieces by third world artists (not worth enough to bother yet, she was bored), sitting in on a cultural exchange discussion between the duke and Mayor Bloomberg (he knew of her through her police files and asked her opinion), and then having dinner at Aureole she considered herself off the clock. That's probably why she had broken her first, best rule; case the joint for escape routes.

However, when Bardom's gentleman's gentleman announced, "F.B.I. Special Agent Peter Burke and Mr. Dante Haversham, Esquire, to see the lady," she might have left by the window exit and attempted to scale the building if only she hadn't been wearing her newest pair of Jimmy Choos, though from the look on Peter's face, the suicidal attempt might have been an acceptable option.

After none too gently pulling her by the arm into the private corridor outside the suite, Peter laid it on the line. "I need the music box and I need it now."

"Neal gave the music box to Fowler, didn't he?"

Peter gripped her arm even tighter but didn't say a word.

"What makes you think…?"

"Shut up. Let me put it to you another way. Neal barely survived seven kinds of hell because of your games. What's left of his spirit isn't really living. As his friend, I am going to do everything I can to help him. If that means killing you to get that box to trade for his sanity, lady, it's an easy choice."

"You're an F.B.I. agent, Burke. You can posture all you want but I know…."

"I'm on vacation."

"You'd never do it. Neal would never forgive you for…"

"Let me talk to her" said Mozzie, cutting her off.

Peter had come to respect Mozzie's abilities and was not surprised when he was able to locate Alex for him. But he did not believe the odd little man could convince Alex any better than he could.

Yet as Mozzie whispered into Alex's ear; the woman's face lost all color as she trembled, nodded slowly, visibly dropping whatever con she might have thought of pulling.

"Okay," she nearly sobbed, "I gave Neal a forgery."

"Do I look surprised?" said Peter.

"But I swear, there was nothing in the real box. What I gave Neal is an exact replica; it's even made of amber. Unless you could compare it to the original you'd probably never know the difference. It cost me a fortune too."

"Don't expect me to give you an IOU," Peter said.

Alex looked back at Mozzie who gripped her other arm and shook it. "I don't have it."

Peter's steady gaze did not waiver.

"I sold it."

Peter didn't even blink.

"To Fowler."

"That lying, son of a…"

Mozzie cut Peter off.

"And Alex is going to help us get it back."

"He'll never give it to you," said Alex.

"You stole it once. If he doesn't give it to me then you can steel it again," said Peter.

Alex looked from Peter to Mozzie and paled even more as Mozzie nodded to her.

"Okay, just let me make my excuses to the duke."

Peter let go his grip on her arm. "We'll all make them."

As they followed in, Peter whispered, to Mozzie "What did you say to her?"

Mozzie just smiled, "A gentlemen never tells."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

When Elizabeth entered the fourth museum on her list, and spotted Neal walking into a special exhibit of the work of Steve Miller, she thought luck was with her.

That was until she caught up with Neal in the photography wing and her heart sank. He was huddled, rocking slightly on a bench, softly muttering, holding his left hand over the the sleeve of his right arm which was stained with dried blood. It was then she caught site of what had his rapt attention.

"Oh, Neal," she said to herself, rubbing her temples for a moment

He was starring at a photograph called Glock. It looked like an x-ray of hands, the photographically exposed skeleton loading bullets into a pistol. Neal's eyes never left what to him, Elizabeth knew, must have been a scene from his living nightmare

Of all the works for him to focus on, it even gave her the jitters and she made a point to join Peter occasionally at the FBI shooting range for practice.

So as not to startle him, Elizabeth quietly walked up to Neal so he could see her. Catching the whiff of alcohol on his breath she took a quick look at the wound on his arm, which was roughly tended under the torn sleeve and determined that while probably painful it looked like more of a scratch and had already stopped bleeding.

Sitting next to him, Elizabeth put her arm around her friend. She could feel him flinch, then relax, though there was still tension and the unrelenting tremors in his muscles. She pulled Neal closer until he was leaning against her and his arm came around to rest at her waist, resting his head against hers. It wasn't long before he started talking.

"I was never afraid of guns before, Elizabeth. I just never liked them."

"Why?"

"People ask that as if disliking guns is some sort of aberration."

"No, Peter doesn't like guns either, really but its a tool of his trade. I don't like them but I want to be able to defend myself."

Neal chuckled, "And people think guns help them do that?." He shook his head. "It's really not the guns you know, it's the attitude of the people who carry them." He pulled away slightly and turned so they were face to face.

"When I was a kid, I had a friend who loved playing fairytales more than cowboys and Indians or playing war or space. We'd play with our toy guns and light sabers and make believe we were shooting and killing each other but he would get into it with us waving a magic wand. Even though he was only five, he used to say that all you could do with a gun was kill but a magic wand gave you options." Neal's face lighted with the memory, his voice becoming steadier and more sure.

"Every time we thought we were about to win the game, he would wave his wand and turn us into something, frogs were his favorite but sometimes it would be monkeys or birds, even trees or flowers." Neal chuckled. "At first we would kid him, saying he wasn't really turning us into anything." Neal chuckled, "He'd say we weren't really shooting at him and if we used real guns, he'd use real magic."

"Yeah, but there are real guns and bullets," said Elizabeth.

"To a five year old, it was impeccable logic. Soon we realized it was much more fun to play along. We'd see how loud we could shout in animal sounds for a few minutes to annoy him into changing us into different things and make believe we were those things until he'd finally turn us back. Then we'd get back into the game of chasing each other around. It was much better to pretend to be something else than to play dead for half the afternoon."

"Yeah, I guess it would be," Elizabeth thought how this explained so much about the way Neal looked at life.

"I think that's what being free has always meant to me, having options. You pick up a gun; you know you're going to use it even if it's just for protection." Neal's voice lost it's levity, "You're going to hurt or kill, very few options there. It also means that somebody else has no other choice than to hurt or kill you. You've given up your options and stolen options from the other guy. Without a gun, there are so many other things that you can do. I like having options," his voice hitched, "I don't like guns."

"I know sweetie, I know." Elizabeth said running her fingers through his hair.

"I want to get back in the game but I don't think I ever will. I don't have the courage anymore. They took that away from me and I don't think I'll ever get it back."

Elizabeth pulled Neal closer to her and put her arm around him. "Neal, you aren't a coward, you never were and you never could be. What they did to you…No one should ever have had to go through something like that. But you have to accept that you are hurt. For a while some things are going to be harder, maybe even impossible, but only for a while. If you broke a leg you wouldn't expect yourself to scale a mountain until you healed. You'd have to use a crutch to get around for a while and cut back on using that leg until you could heal Then you'd have to exercise it to build up its strength."

"It's not my leg they broke."

"No, it's your confidence in yourself," she said very softly. "They did it by hurting you, probably in way's you've never been hurt before. So now that part of you needs a lot of healing. Trying to hide from it, or act as if nothing is wrong, or trying to use that injured part of yourself before you're ready, isn't going to make it heal any faster. In fact, like a broken leg, it will only increase the damage. But this wound that you have, Neal, it's not a reflection on who you are either, any more than a broken leg would be. It doesn't make you less of a person or less courageous. Please, for as long as you need to, let yourself lean on us until you heal. Peter and I love you, we understand what you're going through and we want to help."

Elizabeth's words only made Neal's feelings of guilt greater and he pulled away from her.

"Peter? Peter's my friend and I betrayed him." He slammed his fist into his chest, turned and faced Elizabeth. "I freaked Elizabeth," he hit himself again. Peter needed me and I freaked. I ran leaving him to struggle with two gunmen. He can't have a partner he can't count on and he can't count on me."

"But he can count on you. Don't you see? Your actions prove that. If it weren't for you, everyone in that store might have been killed? You gave him the chance he needed, the only chance available. Neal, He trusts you."

Neal jumped up, agitated at her words.

"Trusts me? Peter trusts me?" Neal said sarcastically. "Ever since I proposed my get out of jail deal I wanted him to trust me, I did everything I could so that he would trust me but the whole thing was nothing but a con. I knew it and deep down though he probably won't admit it, he knows it too. I can't be trusted. I never could."

"That's not true."

"Oh, yes Elizabeth, it is true. At first I tried to con him so I could run to find Kate. I love you, Elizabeth and I conned you so that you'd be on my side, that's the type of person I am. Later, later I conned both of you because I just wanted to stay out of prison."

"He knew that Neal, we both did. But then, you started trusting Peter and me and you dropped the con."

"You think that?" Neal laughed harshly, "I always knew I could trust him to have my back and I've never known anyone who I could trust as much as Peter. I trust him even though I've always known that it would be the worst mistake of his life to trust me. The FBI might own me but I could ruin his career, I could ruin just as easily as he could put me back in prison. Now, trusting me could kill him and make you a widow."

"Neal, you saved his life and the lives of the other people in the store."

"I know what I did Elizabeth. He needed me and I ran. I couldn't face their guns and so he had to take both robbers on by himself. Peter was lucky."

He sat back down on the bench, having run out of steam. "Next time, I don't want to give you a reason to hate me. I don't want to be responsible for causing his death. I'd rather die myself. No. I'll go back to prison if that's the only way. Just, no more guns."

"But you have such good luck with guns, especially when they're aimed right at your head." Elizabeth's head came up and Neal stiffened, immobilized by a terrible fear as he felt a chill overtake him and his gorge rise at the sound of that voice.

"Who are you?" Elizabeth quickly stood up and turned, poised like a lioness ready to do battle to save her cub and faced the man with the scar on his chin.

The man with the scar stepped around and lifted Neal's chin to look directly into his eyes. Elizabeth saw Neal's eyes widen in terror as the man caressed his face with the muzzle of his pistol as the consultant sat, trembling.

Elizabeth leaped up onto the man, startling him with her action and her weight and pushed him onto the ground. "Neal, run, run get the museum guard."

Neal hesitated for just a moment, "Now, run Neal. Peter would want you to run," and he ran to the exhibit hall exit, searching for the guard, but he barely got beyond the next door when two men grabbed him and pushed him up against a wall.

Within moments, the man with the scar came to them, dragging Elizabeth, sporting a bruise on her cheek, along with him. He motioned to his men, who pushed Neal down to his knees and pulled his hair to look up at him.

"Ah, Neal, I'm so glad you didn't get away. Now we have you and your amazing lady love. You will both leave your cell phones and wallets and purse here as well as all the little tracking devices I'm sure you have on you and then we can all go back to my place to play Neal's favorite game."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter VI

"What makes you think that something has happened to Caffery?," Garrett Fowler sat comfortably behind his desk in his corner office in the US Department of Justice Building, the glass walls behind him presenting a clear view of the city's nightly display of lights. His expression would have been genial except for the slight smirk. From what you've said, sounds to me like he just got scared and ran. Oh, wait. Now I get it. You think your little pet convict tried to escape custody. I see. Well why don't you just post some wanted posters and set up road blocks. I'm sure he'll be found in no time."

"You smug bastard," said Peter who had burst through the office door just minutes ago. He could see Fowler was enjoying this and it sickened him. "Whatever has happened to him, you're behind it. I know it."

"What makes you think that?"

"Because that's what you do," said Peter, "because you use anyone and everyone to get what you want. You dangled his girlfriend in front of him like a carrot to manipulate him to break out of jail four months before his prison term was up just so you could own him. When that didn't quite work out for you, you framed him so your pet thief would go free, just to try and get him into your clutches again. You coerced him, you used him as bait and for all I know you planned Kate's and his murder and his only reward in all these machinations of yours is that he stays out of prison. In return, Neal gave up nearly everything he had, short of his life for one of your missions. But that wasn't enough for you. You wanted Neal out in the field now and the fact that the man is barely able to hold it together because of what he has endured to serve you, just played into your plans, didn't it?"

"Look, I know what's bothering you. You like Caffery. But right now he's damaged goods, not only useless to you but a danger. You feel bad because he is your responsibility and he looks up to you. You don't want to come right out and say it, bad form, I get that. But I can get you another partner. I'll go one better. You can even pick him."

"You god damn son of bitch."

Fowler had lost his patience. "Caffery is a criminal. Burke. It's time you faced up to that fact. He belongs to the department and we will use him any way we need to in order to accomplish our missions. If he gets hurt, okay, we'll fix him, like any other possession. But if he's too broken to use, he gets dumped, in his case, back in prison."

Peter remembered Dr. Rothstein's words, "After what he's been through serving you, serving us, you'd throw him back? You're a heartless bastard. With the people he's helped put away he wouldn't survive a day, even if he wasn't hurt, you know that."

"So, I'm giving him his only opportunity to stay out of prison plus paying to get him back into shape. That's damn generous since he did steal the amber music box in the first place."

"Cut the 'I'm being so generous' crap Fowler. The only reason he's not serving time for that right now is because the Italians can't admit they had it or the Russians would be screaming bloody murder. Putting Caffery in prison for it would just make it look like we knew about what was going on and would create more of an international incident than keeping him out of prison."

"Lucky for us, as you've said, that makes him juicy bait. It even works better for us now that we've been able to put out the word that after that last little interlude he's nothing but a broken and sniveling coward and ready to squeal."

"Neal is no coward," Peter yelled, nearly jumping around Fowler's desk, pulling him up by the lapels and hauling back his arm ready to swing.

"You want another suspension?" Fowler practically squeaked, his hands up in front of his face. "You hit me and it will be more than two weeks, maybe even your badge."

Peter knew he had to keep it together, for Neal's sake if for no other reason.

"Look, it's simple, the bad guys know how messed up he is now. They'll think it will be a snap to nab him. They'll try to make him talk but he'll get them to talk and tell him why they want the damn thing. Then we nab them for kidnapping, assault and whatever other charges we come up."

"And that worked so well the last time," said Peter.

"I put Caffery under surveillance. Anyone makes a move, they'll notify me."

"Yeah, so where the hell is he now?"

"They lost him when he rabbited out of that liquor store."

"They lost him," Peter slammed his hand on the desk.

"They'll catch up with him again."

If Fowler knew Peter any better, the expression on his face would have set him running.

"Give me the box," he said.

"What makes you think I have it?"

"You really think you can play stupid with me?" Peter went to the door and signaled Mozzie to bring in Alex.

Fowler's eyes widened as the two walked in. "Yeah, well, I should have known better, but it proves my point. You can't trust a thief."

"Look who's talking," were the first words out of Mozzie's mouth.

"Okay, I've got it. I've got the amber music box. What do you think you're going to do with it?"

"Different plan, different bait. I've got the box and I'll give it to anyone who brings me Caffery, alive and unharmed."

"And we nab them instead, and plea bargain them down to get the information we need, okay. But where the box goes, I go."

"Fine," Peter turned to Moz, and nodded toward the adjoining conference room and the bank of phones there. "Fowler and I will work our networks and you work yours, put the word out that I've got the box and will trade it for Neal."

"I'm not going to use my phone where the signal can be traced into the center of this military industrial complex seventh circle of hell."

"I thought you'd be in your element, Dante." Peter guided him into the room. "All the lines in this place are untraceable and secure."

"Peter," he turned at Alex's voice. "I'm sorry, I really didn't know what Fowler had done and what happened to Neal. If I had, well... Let me help. I have some sources that won't take Mozzie's calls, even if he knew about them."

Peter smiled, "I'm sure Fowler won't mind giving you access to whatever resources you need, will you?" he smirked at the OPR agent.

"You know, you're busting an operation that has taken almost two years to put into motion," said Fowler.

"See how much I care."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

With a rough shove, Neal was thrown into the room from his nightmares, landing hard on his wounded arm against the floor, the ripping, burning pain momentarily stunning him.

It was a different warehouse, in a different part of the city, but everything else seemed the same. Except for a single light 20 feet above their heads, the room was dark, as Neal had remembered it, seen it every night in his dreams. In the center, as if on a stage, was the same chair, fastened to the floor. On it was a generous supply of wire and a pair of wire cutters on the seat. Around the stage in stark contrast were several rows of easy chairs, with richly colored cushions for the men who comprised the audience of his previous humiliating torment and torture. Recording equipment was also present so that they could later view his humiliation at their leisure.

The man with the scar walked in, pulling Elizabeth along, holding her tightly, his fingers digging into her arms.

"We'll give you two love birds an hour to discuss your options and then Neal can tell us whether or not we will continue with him, or if we should enjoy the charms of this fair creature." The man reached around to caress Elizabeth's cheek but she spit on him and stamped hard on his foot with her heel.

The man yelped, letting go of her, but stepped back in time to block her attempt out the door chuckling. "Oh, my dear, that one," he pointed to Neal, "will be so easy to crack he's barely worth the trouble. But whether you go before or after, I'll look forward to our interlude. I'm sure with you it will go on very. very long time, definitely more satisfying."

One of the man's goons held Elizabeth as the man with the scar walked over to Neal, still struggling to catch his breath from the pain. The man kicked him in the ribs causing Neal to curl in on himself, attempting to protect himself, gritting his teeth against the pain from several more kicks administered to his stomach, back and chest.

"Stop it, stop it," Elizabeth yelled, struggling against the goon who was holding her.

"See how he squirms," the man with the scar laughed. Bending down he grabbed Neal's hair, pulling it to keep Neal's head immobile and took out his gun, touching the muzzle to Neal's forehead. A sheen of sweat covered Neal's face and the look of horror distorted Neal's features so that Elizabeth barely recognized him as her friend.

"Ah, he's whimpering in fear, the poor boy." He forced Neal to look at him. "You're a coward, not even a man, the way you've been sniveling, too afraid to go out in public for fear people will see what a nothing you are." The man let Neal's hair go like he was throwing him away and walked back towards Elizabeth. "He knows it will take no time to break him. I have no doubt he'll chose you to play with us for a while to delay finishing him off. But it will be interesting watching him, watch you suffer. He might even beg for the bullet to avoid that. Ah, this will be much more fun all around, seeing him plead for death while we play with you." he laughed as he and his men left, closing and locking the door.

Elizabeth ran over to Neal but he was already slowly climbing to his feet. "Don't" he said in a small voice as she reached out to him. "I'm okay," he told her, panting, turning away from her and holding his stomach. She chose to believe him, even though she knew he was not. If nothing else, what she thought was a scratch from the bullet on his arm was now slowly bleeding again. Later she would have to force the issue, but now was not the time.

Elizabeth walked back to the door and examined the hinges, the lock, searching for some way out and then continued around the room testing and searching the walls, floors and examining the ceiling.

Walking over to the center chair Neal looked down at it seeing blood stains that could have been and most likely were his. "Don't bother Elizabeth there's no way out. I'd have found it the last time if there was."

Heartened by even this small show of self-confidence from Neal, she continued to exam the walls. "I can still check. I thought you were never left alone here."

"I was for just a couple of hours the first night, like tonight, for me to think about it."

Elizabeth walked over to him, "Neal, we just have to hold on for a short time. Peter will find us. You know he will."

"Yes, Elizabeth, I know he will," Neal said dully, remembering how that was the mantra, 'Peter will find me,' that he repeated to himself for a whole week last time, the only thing that kept him going, kept him from saying anything when the fear and the pain were more than he could bear.

But it had taken a week and that was with Peter knowing he'd been taken though not by whom. This time all Peter knew was that he'd run away from the liquor store and that he could be anyplace. Elizabeth's absence could mean anything and just confuse him. There would be no reason to connect the two or to think they were in danger. Silently, Neal doubted that even if Peter could magically find them, it would not be in time before the game began. They'd come in here and make him choose and he knew he would never put Elizabeth through what they'd done to him. Just like last time, he had to hold on for as long as it took to keep Elizabeth safe because not to would again betray the only man who truly trusted him in any way, the only man he ever really trusted.

He ran his hands over the chair, touched the wires, the ones like they'd used to fasten his arms and legs and neck so he couldn't get out. They'd put him in that chair, use the wires to restrain him and they'd start their game all over again. But this time they were making him ask for it, volunteer for it, for the pain and the fear that still ate at him from the last time. They said he had a choice, but he had none. No options, no freedom, just pain and death.

This time he felt the despair form just under his heart, fill his chest, rise up his throat like bile and choke him, burn up behind his face and fill his eyes with tears until no matter how he tried to stop it it burst. "I can't," he cried "I can't, do this, not again." With hopelessness overwhelming him, Neal slumped down on the floor leaning against the chair, and for the first time since this ordeal began, he could not fight the sobs.

**A/N Nope, don't try to deny it. I know a lot of people are reading this story. For those of you who are enjoying it, remember fanfiction writers get no money for a great deal of work. Our payment is knowing that what we've done is appreciated so please, feed a few crumbs (reviews) to us. For those of you who have reviewed, thank you very much, your words make my day. For those of you who have read it but want to throw a few flames, flame away, some of my best friends are fire fighters. Either way, a few words would be appreciated. Thank you. **


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter VII

It took but a moment for Elizabeth, her heart breaking for Neal's anguish, to kneel down on the floor and wrap her arms around her friend, his body shaking with his sobs. Huddled there together, rocking slightly, Elizabeth was much more worried for Neal than herself. Whoever went first, the other would suffer just as much, she knew that about both of them. Something had to be done and quickly. If they weren't rescued immediately then it was up to the two of them to figure something out. Unfortunately, Neal was in such a bad place right now he was giving up before 'the game' began.

"The game," she said to herself, remembering what Neal had told her just that afternoon. The only thing was, could Neal pull it off. Well, she just had to convince him that he could. If she had faith in him, maybe he'd have that same faith, and she did have faith in Neal. That was no con. And he trusted her, despite his assertions, that wasn't a con either. She held him, comforting him for a few more moments as he struggled to control himself.

"I'm sorry, Elizabeth." Neal said, pulling away from her, humiliated to have broken down in front of her. "I, I guess I got you all wet and a little bloody as well."

"Don't be silly, Neal, If anyone needed to just let go for a while, it's you. I was not about to tell you to cowboy up."

Neal chuckled at that but sobered quickly. "I don't know what to do, Elizabeth. I'll keep them away from you as long as I can but..."

"Stop that. Stop that right now Neal Caffery."

"What?"He couldn't believe she was angry at him?

"Neal, we're not going to let them do this to us. We have to come up with a plan. You have to come up with a plan. That's what you do."

Neal looked dully at her. "They'll come in, tie me to this chair, point a revolver with one bullet in the barrel in it at my head and shoot at me. Maybe I'll live, maybe I'll die but they'll keep at it until I tell them what they want, which I can't because I don't know where the music box is, and this will continue until my luck runs out. Either way, it ends just the same. No, it's different. After they finish with me, then they'll start on you."

"No, hon, that's their plan. Come on, Neal. This is your nightmare only it's here, it's real, and it can't haunt you anymore. There's nothing more to be afraid of because you are face to face with it and you can see it for what it is. It's pain, it's torment, but there are no more surprises.

He looked at her as if she'd lost her mind.

"What? You know what they're going to do and you've lived through it, worse for wear but you're still here. Remember you told me, you were never afraid of guns, just the lack of options. Well, think about it. All they've got is a gun and you are not afraid of guns. But you Neal, you're the greatest con man that ever lived. They're afraid of you because they don't know what to expect of you because you've got options."

"What are our options?" Neal hopelessly shook his head. "We have none."

Elizabeth wanted to smack him. "You know, the only reason you're saying that is because you're letting them play with real guns and you won't use your real magic wand."

Neal looked sharply up at her, surprised. Elizabeth continued. "What, you think I couldn't tell that the 5-year-old who liked fairy tales and used a magic wand because it gave him options was you?"

Neal smiled at her through his remaining tears, his eyes brightening for the first time in weeks as her words hit home. He'd been afraid, but not of the gun, afraid because he bought into their game, that he had no options. Yet that had never been how he'd operated before. They had conned him into it.

His smile grew and his eyes twinkled in the darkness as a switch flipped in his mind.

"You know, you're beautiful, brave, brilliant, sexy as hell and absolutely terrific," he said as he wiped the tears from his eyes and face. "Even though you're married to Peter, if I didn't know he'd kill me for doing it, I'd steel you away in an instant."

"You'd have to steel Peter away too, we come as a set. Now let's just think."

It was then that they heard people at the door.

"Got a plan," Neal said and groaning, quickly got up of the floor, pulling a startled Elizabeth up with him. He sat down on the chair that had been an instrument of his torture, and pulled Elizabeth down onto his lap.

"That was quick," she laughed, putting her arms around him to give him a quick hug, though she could feel him still trembling. He was terrified, and she couldn't fault him for that. She was pretty scared herself and had never lived through anything like what was to come. But Neal was going to face this through, and there was no more anyone could ask of him.

He smiled, "Back my play," he whispered in her ear and kissed her on the cheek. "I'll get them to take you out of here and give you a phone. No matter what they do or say, just call Peter."

"Neal, no, that's not what I meant," thinking he'd decided to go through this alone."

"Please, Elizabeth, I'll be alright, I promise, please."

She knew he would not be but there was no more time to protest as men filed in and Neal nudged her up. She bullied Neal into coming up with a plan and he did. If Neal was to have any chance she had to play along.

To the men entering, while they were promised a broken, terrified, shell of a man to observe and enjoy his last moments of torment, what they found instead was a genial, if somewhat worse for wear host, greeting his guests.

"Welcome, welcome gentlemen. It's so nice to see you all again," Neal said grabbing their hands, shaking them, giving them hugs of greeting, even to the man with the scar on his chin as he entered behind the rest.

But the man with the scar on his chin grabbed Neal's wrist and held it out to all showing them that Neal's hand was shaking. "Neal, Neal, you're not fooling anyone with this ridiculous act."

Neal didn't need to look down at his hand, to know he was terrified, but kept his persona firmly in place, "I'm not trying to fool you. You gave me some time to consider my options and I have. If you let me make a call, I'll have the music box brought to you."

The man with the scar chuckled, "Just like that."

"Just like that."

"So you enjoyed our hospitality so much last time that you refused to hand over the box for a week just to remain in our company?"

"Actually, my friend and I don't want to outstay your gracious welcome and would just as soon let you have the box and go home."

The man with the scar looked back and forth between Neal and Elizabeth.

"Tell me where it is and I'll send someone to fetch it."

"Ah, no, that won't work."

"Aha."

"No, it won't work because as I've told you before I don't know where it is and playing your game isn't going to change that. But I know who has it. Just let me make a call and he'll bring it here."

The man with the scar laughed. "Here? No, no. You will stay here and we'll take you're lady love to a place of our choosing where she'll be left. She can make the call and help us retrieve the the box, to trade for your release" he motioned some men to take Elizabeth.

Backing Neal's play, Elizabeth hugged him, fearing that she might never see him alive again, and shook off the goons' hands walking out of the room with the men as if she were going out to shop at RedLipstick with some friends. But Neal had given her this chance and she would follow through for him.

Resisting a sigh of relief, as the door closed behind Elizabeth, Neal sat down on the chair and crossed his legs as if this was his living room and he was entertaining guests. "That will be even better," Neal smiled grateful he had at least gotten Elizabeth out of this hell.

But Neal failed to notice the grin that formed on man with the scar's face as he nodded to two of his men. They grabbed him and fastened his limbs to the chair.

"In the meantime, all that waiting will soon bore all my associates who have eagerly anticipated seeing you again. Luckily, we were able to transport all our toys here, with a few new ones I'd like to try four our amusement. We can just take up where we left off and take our little game to its completion."

This was something Neal had hoped to avoid. "But you'll get the music box," his voice cracked. "There's no reason to interrogate me further?" Neal's fear returned in full measure, the persona he had adopted gone, the options had run out.

The man with the scar on his chin tested Neal's bonds as his men finished. "It's not about the things, Neal, it's about the people. You're broken, but it will be interesting to watch you suffer, see how much pain we can inflict on you and record your reactions for posterity, knowing there is absolutely nothing you can do to stop it from continuing as long as it amuses us and there's no one who will save you."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"Clear," Fowler called out.

"Clear," said Peter. It was horrible déjà vu for Peter as hours later, he and Fowler, followed by Mozzie, warily entered the room in the warehouse and found Neal, his face bruised and swollen from a beating, his body twitching, slumped in the chair, his clothes stained in blood from the wire used to restrain him which had cut through the cloth and into his arms and legs and neck. Burn marks from a tazer gun covered the exposed portion of Neal's stomach, chest, shoulders and neck where his shirt had been ripped open.

"Neal," Peter whispered his name as he checked his pulse, relieved he was still alive. He worked with Mozzie to untwist the wires to free their friend as Fowler called for an ambulance and forensic team and then signaled El and Alex telling them it was safe to come in.

Mozzie helped Peter lift Neal from the chair and laid him on a pile of cushions which Alex and Elizabeth had quickly gathered from the chairs for the audience.

"Peter," Neal mumbled through a dry mouth and bloody lips he had obviously bitten.

"I'm here buddy; just take it easy, an ambulance is on the way."

"Is Elizabeth okay?" he croaked, "Did, did you get them?"

"I'm right here sweetie," Elizabeth took Neal's hand, yet Peter looked so angry for a moment, Neal nearly flinched afraid Peter would rightfully blame him for putting his wife in such danger.

"No, Fowler's set up back fired. They got away again and this time with the a music box, and all the rest of them scrammed out of here as well."

Fowler came over to them looking smug. "It didn't backfire, Caffery. They got away with Alex's forged music box with a tracker camouflaged into the interior lining. Unfortunately, they must have found it and it because it stopped functioning. It was the only way to find out why they want the damn thing since you screwed up so badly with this. Just as soon as we have the medics check you over, you're going back to prison. You can be treated and recuperate in its infirmary just as well as anyplace else."

"No," Peter was furiious.

"It's alright Peter," Neal moaned, apparently unaffected and accepting of his fate as he leaned back against the pillows. "Some things never change."

"I won't let this happen," Peter said, turning back to Neal, stunned by what he saw. Neal's tremors had increased due to the suffering he had endured through lord knew the number of times he'd been tazered. He had to be in pain from that as well as the rest of his wounds, superficial as they may be. Yet he gave a dazzling smile first to Elizabeth and then to Alex who each held one of his hands, while stroking his hair and tending his wounds as best they could. Neal looked like he was immensely enjoying the moment flirting with two beautiful women at once, which Peter wouldn't have minded so much if one of them hadn't been Elizabeth.

"Face it Burke, he screwed up," drawing Peter's attention back, as Fowler spoke as if Neal wasn't even there. "He was supposed to find out who they were and why they want the box. But don't worry. I'm a man of my word. I'll get you a partner who has some guts and brains, and isn't afraid of using a gun and you can go back to White Collar."

This time Peter did sock Fowler in the jaw, knocking him down to the floor near where Neal lay. "Neal's no coward. He's my partner and yes he's my friend and there's no way you're going to do that to him."

Fowler rubbed his jaw. "Face it, Burke. He's broken. They broke him and he doesn't even know who they are. We have to start this op again from the beginning but it will be without him. There's no other way to find out what's so special about that box without knowing who wants it."

"Will these help?" Neal put a handful of some small cards on the floor in front of Fowler and groaned as he lifted himself up slightly. "Ladies, would you help me a bit? There really isn't anyplace I don't hurt right now." They helped him sit up and Neal pulled out small cards from his pockets and dropped them on the floor in front of Fowler.

Fowler picked up some of the cards, some white, some of different colors and patterns, all with weird red markings on them, as Peter knelt down and looked at some of the others.

"Neal, what are these?"

"Oh," chuckled Elizabeth from where she sat next to Neal, "Of course, that's what you were doing when those men came in."

Neal smiled at her, "You told me to use my magic, my options."

"What the hell are you talking about?" said Fowler.

Peter picked up more of the cards, and smiled in pride at Neal's genius, "These are their business cards," he laughed. "Son of a gun, Neal, I don't know how you pulled this off but you never cease to amaze me." He turned to Fowler, throwing the cards he had gathered in his face. "Fowler, Neal picked their pockets, and unlike their wallets or drivers licenses, these cards won't be missed so they won't even know we've ID'd them giving us plenty of time to find them all We even have their addresses. We may even get some finger prints off of them."

Fowler grabbed the cards up looking at them."

"I know I got three cards from everyone who came into the room so you can separate them out," said Neal. "I also got some cards they had in their wallets and pockets from other people so you've got some of their associates as well. We probably have the names of all of them here."

"It's too circumstantial to prove they were here," said Fowler, rubbing his fingers and looking at the red flakes coming from the cards. "Is this blood?"

"Ah, well, that's probably mine. My bullet wound reopened when they threw us in here and when I picked their pockets I might have marked all of the cards as well as their clothing with my blood."

"You've been reading my books on evidence again, haven't you, Neal?" Peter said.

Fowler grabbed his cell phone and called his lead agent, to get arrest warrants, reading off the names of the cards as he picked them up from the floor.

Peter watched, amused as Neal kept emptying his pockets, sleeves, pants legs, even socks and shoes, of all the cards as Fowler grabbed them up. "And that will tie them all to kidnapping and assault and a ton of other charges," Peter grinned, "Awfully sloppy work for you, Neal, leaving evidence like that, that you picked their pockets."

"Yeah, I know. I couldn't even tell when you picked my pocket on the beach last week. I'm definitely losing my touch. Guess I'll have to turn in my union card to united pickpockets international," Neal relaxed back down onto the pillows.

"Well, that will make my life a lot easier," said Peter.

"Peter?" Neal's voice held a hint of worry that hadn't been there before.

"Yes?"

"Fowler, said all I had to do was get the names, right?"

"Right."

"So no prison?"

Fowler closed his cell phone. "No, no prison Caffery. You did your part under difficult circumstances. So I'm offering you a place in OPR permanently if you want and I'll have the rest of your sentence nullified so going back to prison won't be held over your head any more. You'll be working directly for me and your first assignment will be to help with interrogating these guys about why they want the music box. I know you've been having difficulties making decisions lately so take the time you need to recuperate and you can give me a decision then. When do you think you'll be ready? "

"No difficultly in making this decision, Fowler. I'll work for you again when prosciutto can be caught in a butterfly net. Peter?" he turned to his partner.

"Yes?" he chuckled.

"Do you think we can end this beach front sojourn and get back to the relatively boring job of solving white collar crimes? I mean it, I don't know how you guys survive this. As a criminal, I never took a vacation and now I know why."

"Broken, useless, a coward because he doesn't like guns," Peter laughed, "I don't think so, Fowler. Maybe he's just a little bent, but then, that's what makes him Neal Caffery."

**Thank you for reading and a special thank you to everyone who reviewed this story. It's gratifying to know the work is appreciated.**


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